


We meet again after the end

by Varaen



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varaen/pseuds/Varaen
Summary: Even long after having returned to Valinor, elves keep celebrating the solstices.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lingwiloke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/gifts).



> My Tolkien Secret Santa gift for Lingwiloke. I hope you like it.

"Now you are ready," Celebrimbor said as he tied the last plait with a silver clasp. It was not often that Maeglin allowed him to fuss about and spruce him up as Celebrimbor liked, and he loathed to let it end earlier than he had to. Maeglin would squirm and complain loudly and extensively that he preferred to wear his hair in a simple braid, and to dress in simple and functional clothes, but he could not deny how much he enjoyed himself whenever Celebrimbor sat him down, dressed his hair with silver chains and jeweled pins and made him wear stately robes made of rich silk.

"Who do you think has come to gawk at the exiles and their quaint traditions this time?" Maeglin asked. He stood and smoothed the fall of his robes while Celebrimbor admired the results of his labour. Maeglin's robes were shimmering blue or green depending on the light, and his hair was coiled and braided in a silver mimicry of his eldest uncle's famous golden braids. It was very unlike the dark and sober fashions he had preferred in Gondolin. Maeglin had realized very quickly how much this change surprised and sometimes unsettled people who had known him before, and also how much he enjoyed watching them flounder. He had spent some of the most amusing minutes of his new life when he attended a gathering in Elrond’s house for the first time and went entirely unrecognized. He had barely managed to keep a straight face when Idril had come over and demanded that Celebrimbor introduce his “favourite cousin” to his “charming date”.

Maeglin caught himself before he delved too deep into remembrance. They had a party to attend, after all. Humming, he switched places with Celebrimbor and had him sit in front of the vanity. It only took a few moments and a few more hair pins to attach the holly wreath he had made to Celebrimbor’s otherwise unbound hair. Maeglin seldom resisted his abiding fondness for visual puns. After a last kiss to Celebrimbor’s brow, he led the way out of their shared guest rooms.

 

* * *

 

 

The Rivendell of Valinor was neither a refuge nor the Last Homely House of anyplace, really, but it shared a fair number of similarities with the last residence of Elrond and his people. Nestled into a narrow valley in the wild mountains between Tirion and Formenos, the surroundings resembled eastern Eriador as much as Valinor possibly could. Celebrían had begun planning the estate as a distraction while she recuperated, and built it together with other former residents who had come to Valinor for one reason or another. Neither Celebrimbor nor Maeglin had ever seen the original settlement, but they had heard it said often enough: While the layout and design of the main structures was a perfect recreation, Imbeláris was more than a mere copy of Rivendell, it was an excellent transformation of its idea and ideals into the environment of Valinor. And first and foremost, it was home to all who wished to call it such.

Celebrimbor and Maeglin were frequent guests rather than permanent residents, but the homely atmosphere was undeniable. Imbeláris was something of a meeting hub where former Noldorin exiles mingled freely with Sindar, Silvan and other elves of the east like they had done in Middle-Earth. Even those Noldor who had been received warmly upon their return or arrival to Valinor liked to live out their nostalgia upon visiting, and neither Celebrimbor nor Maeglin were that lucky.

“You are being maudlin again,” Celebrimbor pointed out. Maeglin smiled wryly. The carefully dated solstice celebrations that were observed in Imbeláris had transformed from their original theme to remembrance of their past. Despite the many years that had passed in the meantime and the time he had spent healing, remembrance was still too often on the bitter side of bittersweet for him. Contrary to his expectations, the community of Imbeláris made it easier instead of harder to find a brighter side to everything.

The followers of Elrond - and they were all his followers, one way or another - had perfected the art of politely overlooking the less-than-stellar pasts of other elves, as long as the other party was willing to leave said less-than-stellar past behind them. Part of that was out of necessity. Over the millennia of its existence, Imladris had been home to elves from all three clans and many different cultures, most notably those among the Noldor who had been born in Valinor. Their unique outlook had been vital to keep the peace in the valley. Moreover, many strived to emulate Elrond’s attitude when dealing with the past. And that meant to remember the positive aspects fondly and not let negative aspects of the past mar the perception of the present.

There was a different kind of healing in that, something Maeglin had not found in Námo’s halls, and neither in Estë’s gardens afterwards. He had not even realized that it was something he had been missing even as far back as Gondolin, until Glorfindel had sought him out one late summer night. Maeglin had been apprehensive at first, but then they had talked until the morning, and cried, and talked some more, and afterwards, a knot of tension that he had never noticed existing had eased and disappeared.

A well timed elbow to the side startled him out of his wandering thoughts as they entered the great hall together, and Maeglin could not help but smile. Celebrimbor was a blessing, although Maeglin was positive that this was not what his mother meant when she called Valinor “the blessed realm”.

The great hall was lit by lanterns of all colours and sizes, and full of elves in varying states of inebriation. Distracted by their mutual hairdressing, they had ended up more than just fashionably late, and the feast was in full swing already. He could see Erestor at the head table sitting between Elladan and Elrohir deep in conversation and their cups both, and Táranis on a podium next to Lindir playing a duet for harps. Almarien was dancing with Lothvaen, but she laughed and waved when she noticed them. Elrond and Celebrían he spotted in an alcove, acting like centenaries. But for all the elves of former Imladris he recognized, Glorfindel was conspicuously absent.

Celebrimbor pulled him along to sit next to an elf Maeglin did not recognize, although he looked faintly familiar. He sat comfortably slumped into his seat and was watching the dancing in the centre of the room with a glass of wine in his hand and distracted expression on his face. Said distracted expression quickly turned into a smile when he spotted Celebrimbor, who was almost vibrating with amusement.

“Fancy meeting you here, cousin,” he said as he sat down on one of the chairs he had pulled out and gestured for Maeglin to take the other. “I am glad to see that you finally managed to visit for the solstice. I don’t think you’ve met our cousin Lómion?”

The elf looked Maeglin over with bright eyes.

“Lómion, is it? Or do you prefer Maeglin?”

He spoke Quenya with a lilt that reminded Maeglin of the accent that had distinguished the dialect of Gondolin, and the ease with which he switched between languages to pronounce both names properly was admirable. Still, despite these clues, Maeglin had no idea who it might be.

“Both are fine,” he answered finally. In truth, he had come to prefer Maeglin despite the history attached, but Quenya was still the main language on the Valinorean mainland, and the ability of some to mangle even the simplest Sindarin names was painful. It was easier to just switch names along with the language spoken.

“Maeglin then,” the stranger said, picking up on his thoughts. “Call me Gil, or Artanáro if we’re in the company of  _ the ancient _ .” He emphasized the last word with a wink that should have made him look ridiculous. “Drink and tell me how Celebrimbor has been treating you.”

Gil-Galad poured two glasses and handed them to Celebrimbor and Maeglin respectively. All the while, Maeglin tried to decide how to react to this cousin that he still could not place.

He was interrupted by the sudden silence that fell over the hall. Everyone was staring at the door at someone whom Glorfindel was coaxing into the hall. Maeglin could not see who they were staring at because Glorfindel was blocking his view. Even Lindir had stopped his play. Next to him, Táranis was outright gaping. Celebrimbor craned his neck while Maeglin pricked up his ears.

“Come on in. You didn’t come this far to turn back now, did you? Everyone will be happy to see you,” he could hear Glorfindel say. “Come  _ on _ , grandfather.”

Maeglin turned his head so quickly he could hear his spine creak. Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor were not much slower. Glorfindel only had one grandparent that had not visited Imbeláris yet and would have to be convinced to enter, and it was one he shared with the trio sitting at the table. None of them had expected to ever meet Finwë, or, in Celebrimbor’s case, meet him again.

The first king of the Noldor stepped into the hall slowly. His black hair was unbound and framed his pale face. He wore only a plain robe made of shimmering wild silk. Compared to the elaborately dressed and bejeweled party guests, he looked downright plain.

“Come. There are many grandchildren of yours here today that you have not met yet. I will introduce you,” Glorfindel announced before he led Finwë to the head of the table. Slowly, the hall returned to its former jolly ambience as music and conversations resumed. Celebrimbor rose and waved for Maeglin and Gil-Galad to follow.

“We should hurry before he is completely swarmed,” he advised before he dashed across the hall with the verve of an elf a fraction of his age and threw himself at Finwë with a cry of “grandfather!”. Finwë laughed and caught him with the ease of long practice. Maeglin and Gil-Galad followed at a slower pace, but were drawn into the hug as soon as they arrived.

“You too,” Celebrimbor said as he pulled Glorfindel into the circle as well.

“It is good to see you again, grandfather,” he added after a while. Finwë smiled brightly as he endeavoured to fit all four of them in his embrace.


End file.
